❝Beg.❞
❝Make me.❞
--
𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝐑𝐨𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐳, an assassin commanding fear from all who crossed her path. However, behind her ruthless exterior lay a web of dark secrets that ultimately consumed her.
She is like broken glass-dangerous with shar...
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TO THRIVE in this world, it seems that possessing either beauty or money is necessary. That's the lesson I've learned, and, I am fortunate enough to have both.
A shrill, unwelcome whine pierces the silence-my phone. Another fucking mission? I groan internally, rolling my eyes.
My time and expertise are valuable assets, and their worth should be reflected in my pay, but they give a very generous split of 60/40. It's always me doing the legwork for those assholes' gain.
If the workload keeps increasing, it's only fair to adjust my hourly rate accordingly for these fucking 'bonuses' no one asked for.
My fingers curl around the metal of the gun as I keep it in my pocket.
The hum of the engine fills the car, a gentle counterpoint to the symphony of colours unfolding in the rearview mirror-pink and purple melting into a watercolor masterpiece-and the streetlights flicker to life, casting long shadows on the road ahead as I head home.
The engine purrs to a low hum as I coast into the familiar curve of my driveway. The stars were beginning to twinkle in the sky.
Stepping inside, the familiar walls no longer felt like home.
But home isn't just bricks and mortar, it's a feeling. A feeling that's been conspicuously absent for far too long.
The silence in the house pressed against me, thick and suffocating.
This is why I avoid this place. The ghosts of my mother's laughter mingle with the acrid tang of old grief.
Since her death, everything has shifted, especially the people I loved most.
My father, perhaps seeking solace in distance, retreated further into himself. While his intention may have been to heal, this withdrawal only deepened the pain, leaving him, my brother, and me adrift in a sea of grief.
My feet drag as I approach Father's office, the weight of the impending argument a physical burden.
The fragile truce I'd cobbled together shattered in the face of my father's words, their echoes booming through the opulent cavern of the office.
Love? The word held the weight of a forgotten relic. His vocabulary, a dusty tome filled with duty and veiled threats.
"Love is a luxury, Diana. This marriage secures the future of our lineage, a legacy built on sturdier pillars than capricious emotions." His voice, polished to a glacial sheen, held no trace of warmth.
